


Liking it a little too much

by summermemories



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2385803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summermemories/pseuds/summermemories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place the summer before junior year. Alison and Emily are dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liking it a little too much

We fell asleep on top of Ali's blankets, so that halfway through the night she curls into me, her skin tepid against mine. Me – I always tend to run hot while I sleep, and so it doesn't bother me; but her mother runs the AC constantly, and when I skim my palm down the length of her arm in the early morning I can feel the chill there. My brain is foggy and half awake, but I have the presence of mind to push and tug at her, coaxing her to the head of the bed, so that I can wriggle the blankets out from beneath us and then pull them over her. She doesn't wake up through that, though she mutters half-formed sentences in her sleep.  
  
It takes me a while to fall back asleep, because everywhere Alison touches me is a little cold. I shiver when I wrap my feet around one of hers, because her toes are so chilly. She murmurs and draws close, until our bodies are touching at every point, and I smooth a hand down her hair, before resting my hand against the shell of her ear. My thumb finds the curve and slides down it, before rubbing her earlobe between my thumb and forefinger. I fall asleep like that, with my hand resting against her cheek.  
  


* * *

It's full on morning when I wake up again, and it's because Alison is on top of me. I smile at her, sleepily, and grin at the sight of her bare-chested above me, her hair spilling in golden threads around my face, tickling my shoulders. I reach up, still sleep-drunk, and pull her close for a kiss. Part of me is still astounded that I'm kissing Alison, I think about the kiss last night, which was bitter and tasted too much like tears, and alcohol, and regret - this one is slow, and sensuous, and a bit sloppy but it's perfect.  
  
I'm too caught up in the kiss to notice, at first, the way she is rocking her hips against my lower abdomen, slowly. The rhythm is persistent, however, and her tongue, velvet-slick against mine, draws out a low moan. It starts up a tension beneath my breastbone that draws everything tight, straight past my navel to in between my legs. My nerves begin to tingle and buzz, but it's leisurely and gentle at first. The build-up is slow and languid, and she is kissing me so deeply and thoroughly it's hard to think and hard to breathe.  
  
My tongue is full of her, and everywhere her bare skin touches against mine rouses, surfacing like a slow burn. It makes me anxious in an indescribable way, a nagging sensation that I know has no word - it's the same thing that makes my own body respond to her rhythm, the gentle rocking, and little by little my breathing grows coarse and haggard, a struggle. Her lips are soft and thick, and they stroke and stroke against mine, over and over again, barely allowing me to get in any air. My lips feel full and hot, and my heart is beginning to pound sluggishly in my chest.

Slowly, excruciatingly slow, she drags her mouth away from mine, and I suck in air – too cold against my warmed skin. But then she is fixing her mouth to my jaw, and beneath my ear; her tongue flicking there makes my hips jolt and my fingers squeeze the comforter. When she takes my ear between her teeth, my vision goes white and my entire abdomen squeezes impossibly tight. I arch beneath her, breath exploding harshly from my chest, and I reach up to grasp her, because I feel like I'm spiraling and I need something to hold on to.  
  
"I got you, Em," she breathes, and it makes goosebumps erupt down my neck and shoulders. "Just let me." She kisses the shell of my ear and it makes every single nerve in my body throb in response.  
  
I can't help the way my body tenses, how hard it is to relax when she travels lower, her mouth skimming along my skin, leaving a trail of fire behind it. My body is still twisted up in sleep, so I have the odd double feeling of being sluggish and weighted, but the way Alison is touching me wakes me up, makes my heart race and nerves jitter in my ribcage. She slides her hands up and down my sides, and she looks at me, her eyes intent and knowing – almost as if she can sense my hesitation, how much of a struggle it is for me to lie still. My instinct is to flip her over, to taste her and hear her and touch her; but I know what Alison wants, so I force myself to stay still. Her palms against my ribs encourage my breathing to steady, even though the way she's hovering over my breasts makes me squirm. She smiles – just one, devilish grin – before she licks her tongue out over my nipple, making me hiss and clutch at the bedspread.  
  
I feel her skirt a hand – her left one – down, to tease the skin along my hipbone, and beneath my abdomen. The muscles jump beneath the skin there, and now everything inside of me is accelerating in anticipation. I pant and whine beneath the way her mouth is teasing my nipple, and the way her fingers skim with the tips of her nails even lower, lower. I want her to touch me so badly – everything is hot and throbbing and wet. I can feel it leaking down onto the mattress, and I know I should be embarrassed at how obvious I am. But I'm not. I can't think about anything else other than her, and the way she's playing my body expertly, like a master pianist.  
  
Blindly, I slide a hand up, scratching the skin of her side and shoulder, but she catches it with her free hand before I get to her hair. Slowly, deliberately, she kisses my wrist, and meets my eyes over them. "No," she murmurs, and presses my hand back down to the mattress.  
  
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it everywhere, aching in my ribs and throughout my body, down to my fingertips. I whine and roll my body against hers, insistent, and I think Ali smiles but my eyes are squeezed tight, while my hands fist in the sheets.  
  
She uses her arm to pull my thigh up, up so that I'm spread wide open, and she slides down until the crook of my knee rests against her shoulder. I know she can feel my heat, because I can, and it's slick and thick and I have to hold myself still not to grind upwards into her. She looks up at me when she slides two fingers in, and the way that I'm positioned means she can go in deeply. I groan, and roll my hips, and she lunges forward, until my knee is pressed against my chest and her face hovers just above mine. I'm gasping and panting, now, because I can feel her inside me – deeper than I thought possible, deeper than ever, I think. She holds herself there, and through my fluttering eyelids I can see her watching my face, and her eyes are dark and drowning.  
  
Slowly, she rolls herself into me, and it makes her fingers go in even more. I hitch out a desperate breath, and my hips move of their own accord, shuffling out a frantic pace that's hindered by the way she has my body folded beneath hers. A moment passes, and she slowly draws out, only to roll forward again – this time harder, surer, and with a third finger; she pushes into me with a little grunt.  
I can't help the way I gasp, or how my body vibrates, because it feels like she is touching the most private place of me. She pauses, again, before repeating it – pulling out briefly and then pushing back inside. It's slow, but sharp, and it takes my breath away; all I can do is grip the sheets and close my eyes, and thrust my hips against her, pleading.  
  
Suddenly, shockingly, she increases the pace – it goes from slow and deliberate to quick and almost brutal; the sound of her slamming into me fills the bedroom, a wet, slapping sound. I groan, overcome, and bite my bottom lip, breathing hard through my nose. Alison is relentless – she uses her whole body to roll into me, and each movement shoves my thigh even farther down against my ribs, and shuffles me a little higher on the bed.

It almost hurts. It stretches me, and it's harsh and fast, but it feels better than anything I've ever experienced in my life – perhaps that's the nature of everything with her; that it's wild and raw and almost violent, and it hurts, but the ache feels a lot like love, and it's delicious and beautiful and intense all at the same time. Her breaths are harsh, I can see the way her skin is flushing, and I know that the stickiness between my legs is all over her. I can feel the sweat from her chest against my knee and calf. But she keeps up the unforgiving rhythm, and I wind up so tight so quickly I barely have time to catch my breath before I'm hanging, suspended – all of the air in my body frozen, paralyzed; then it's escaping in a great whoosh, and my hips buck and thrash, and everything inside of me goes liquid gold.  
  
My heart is still pounding, beating hard and loud in my chest, when Ali peels herself away from me, slowly, allowing my leg to slide down. My hip is sore from the angle, and my knee joint is stiff, but she crawls on top of me, covering my body with hers, and I don't think about that anymore.  
  
I think about the way she licks me off of her own fingers, while her ear is nestled between my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I can think of almost nothing else, except the skin and the sweat between us, the immense heat between my thighs, and how perfect and wonderful I feel.  
  
I make a wish – a feeble one, I know, but a wish nonetheless – that I might always feel this perfect and wonderful. And if not forever, for at least for as long as I can.  
  


 


End file.
